


an emergent synthesis

by cruellae (tinkabelladk)



Series: wild heart, wicked soul [2]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Akechi fails at emotions, Hegel quotes, M/M, Pre-Relationship, celebrity gossip, fated rivalry, p5 royal spoilers, post-change-of-heart Shido, wingman yusuke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:40:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25897597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinkabelladk/pseuds/cruellae
Summary: It’s been three years since Joker and Crow defeated their last foe together. Akechi has been wildly successful, building his fame and solving cases as an Ace Detective. But something is missing from a life that looks perfect on camera.Advancement cannot occur without both thesis and antithesis, after all.
Relationships: Akechi Goro & Shido Masayoshi, Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: wild heart, wicked soul [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1795612
Comments: 17
Kudos: 197





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> some of the other fics in this series do not have P5 Royal spoilers, but this one does so beware!

It’s a beautiful spring day. The sky is clear and pale blue, the air fresh and cool, the trees holding great bough-fuls of cherry blossoms. A few drift whimsically from above to settle in Ayane’s hair as she sits on the bench beside Goro, crying quietly into her hands. 

He’s not sure what to say to her. She knew as well as he did what they were getting into, two idols putting on a show of romance that the general public would delude themselves into believing was real.

“It’s easier to pretend if we just go along with it,” she’d said, the first time she kissed him without any cameras around. He should have known she would get attached. She had never been as mercenary as he was about fame, had fallen into an idol’s life through the kind of serendipity most people could only dream about. 

And now here she is, crying softly beneath the cherry trees, and it’s only a matter of time before someone recognizes them and it becomes a whole  _ thing. _

“You’re so cold,” she says, between sniffles. “Have you ever loved anyone?” 

Goro is honestly not sure. Did he truly love his mother, or was that only a young child’s instinct for survival? 

“You’ll be better off without me,” he says, and awkwardly pats her on the back. 

“Oh, god,” she mutters, fishing in her purse for a tissue. “You’re just the worst.” 

“I know.” 

“I don’t know what I thought would happen.” She dabs at her eyes, her composure starting to return. “That you’d say you love me too and we’d have a happily ever after? I’m so stupid sometimes.” 

“It’s not a terrible thing to want,” Goro says. Though “happily ever after” is much too close to Maruki’s distorted dream for him to be comfortable with it. 

Ayane pulls her long, lovely hair back from her face. “I actually feel kind of sad for you. Your life seems so empty. I guess I thought I could rescue you.” 

Goro narrows his eyes at her, but he can’t think of a good response. His life is empty. He’s just not sure there’s anything that could change that. 

He doesn’t even want Shido dead or disgraced anymore. The most powerful motivator—the one that drove him to commit atrocities and seize power, has washed away like seafoam on the shore. 

“You never closed your eyes when you kissed me,” she says. “I think that’s what made me fall for you. You were always focused on me.” 

Goro looks away, hoping she won’t ever find out that he never closed his eyes because when he did, he saw someone else’s face. If he didn’t keep his eyes on her, he would see Akira, always Akira, a black-clad wraith at the edge of his vision, haunting him. 

He hasn’t seen Akira in three years, but he still turns his head when he catches sight of dark curly hair or a long black coat. 

Ayane pulls a compact mirror out of her bag and begins dabbing on concealer, frowning at her reflection. Her composure is rapidly returning, as it usually does after she’s had a good cry. 

“Well, I think it’s over between us, don’t you?” she says. “I’ll talk to my agent and we’ll figure out how to stage it.” 

“I’d appreciate that,” Goro says. 

“And hey, Goro.” She gives him a chaste peck on the cheek and whispers in his ear. “I hope you burn in hell.” 

“I’ll miss you too,” he says, and watches her go, swaying gracefully on her high heels. 

Goro sits under the cherry tree and wonders what it would be like to have a life that wasn’t empty. Where one could even begin. 

“Have you ever been happy?” he asks Shido, during the next ridiculously expensive collect call from the prison where Shido will spend the rest of his days. “When you weren’t gleefully destroying other people’s lives, I mean.” 

Shido is quiet for a moment. “Yes,” he says, finally. “For a very short time, I was happy with your mother. For that little while, she was enough.” 

“She was more than you deserved,” Goro says, though his voice lacks the harshness it once had. 

“I know,” Shido says, his voice heavy with regret. “But Goro, you must know that she was not perfect either.” 

Goro does know that, but he doesn’t particularly like hearing it from Shido. 

“I saw on TV that you broke up with your girlfriend. Is that where these questions are coming from?” 

“Of course not. The whole relationship was staged; you know that.” 

“There is no shame in wanting someone to love you,” Shido says. “I wish for you to find the path that will make you happy.” 

Goro rolls his eyes. “Your sentimentality makes me sick.” 

“So you’ve told me.” Shido sounds more amused than annoyed. “What ever happened to the leader of the Phantom Thieves?” 

“Faded into obscurity, apparently,” Goro says. “Who cares?” 

“Why not look him up?” 

“Why would I?” 

“Goro. I listened to you talk about that boy for half a year. It was the only time I heard something other than anger in your voice.” 

“That’s because I was pissed at you all the fucking time,” Goro snaps. “It had nothing to do with Akira. Who you told me to kill, anyway.” 

“Merely a suggestion from a meddling old man.” 

“You’re lucky you’re not dead, old man,” Goro replies. 

Shido sighs softly. “I’m not so sure that’s true.” 


	2. Chapter 2

The art museum at Ueno is full of wealthy patrons, high ranking government officials, and celebrities. The men are in black suits or tuxedos, and the women wear slinky evening gowns, sequins or silk cascading over curves. 

In the suit he borrowed from Sojiro for the occasion, Akira feels very out of place. But then, he’s never truly belonged anywhere except the Metaverse, where he always felt at home. 

He sips from a champagne flute and lingers near Yusuke’s piece, trying to look like he’s sophisticated enough to understand it. It’s a picture of him, though of course no one besides the Phantom Thieves knows that. In the painting, he’s wearing his Joker mask, half in darkness and half in blinding light. 

“Ah, Radiance and Shadow,” Yusuke is saying to the small crowd gathered there. “Yes, I was originally going to sell it to the museum. However, a private collector made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. So take it in while you can, because it won’t be here after tonight.” 

People start asking questions, but Yusuke just glances over at Akira and smiles. 

“I spy an old friend,” he says. “You’ll forgive me.” 

With nonchalant disinterest, he leaves the group of admirers behind and joins Akira. “I believe they’re serving shrimp,” he says. “Let’s get some food.” 

“It’s good to see you too,” Akira says. “What’s it been, like eight months?” 

“Time is a construct,” Yusuke says. “Ah—over there! I see hourederves.” 

“So who bought your painting?” Akira asks, as Yusuke wanders around gathering as many snacks as he can on a single napkin. “They must have paid a fortune. You hate selling to private collectors.” 

“Oh, no.” Yusuke waves his hand elegantly. “He didn’t pay anything for it. Just reminded me of an old debt.” 

“An old debt?” Akira asks. But Yusuke has stuffed four shrimp in his mouth at once, and is incapable of answering. Instead, he puts the hand not holding a tower of horderves on Akira’s shoulder and turns him around so that he comes face to face with—

Akechi Goro. Looking polished and perfect as always, not a strand of hair out of place. Black tie attire suits him, divides his body into lean, fine lines that Akira struggles not to follow with his eyes. 

“Akechi,” he whispers. 

It shouldn’t be such a shock. Akechi is a celebrity, after all, and Akira sees him on TV all the time. It’s not impossible that they would run into each other in a place like this. 

But the last time Akira saw Akechi in person, they were fighting side by side against Maruki’s impossibly powerful persona. And then Akechi was in the Mona-copter and Akira went to save Maruki, and by the time they all tumbled out of the Metaverse together, Akechi was gone. 

Akira thought Akechi was dead right up until the Detective Prince returned to the public eye with a flashy new solved case and a charming smile. Akira had just been released from jail several months early, with no explanation for the reprieve other than that some zealous detective had taken an interest in his case and proved him innocent.

Now, Akechi catches Akira’s gaze, and for a second, the disguise—Ace Detective, charming prince, young heartthrob—falls away, and Akira can see the cold steel beneath. 

It should frighten him, or at least make him wary, but their time in the Metaverse together showed him that just as Ann crumples easily when targeted by frigid attacks and gusts of wind tear right through Ryuji, Akira is weak to Goro Akechi. 

All it takes is Akechi’s manic smile, wild and wicked, or a cool, disdainful glance that cuts right to the bone, and Akira folds like a tower of cards. 

Akechi is quiet for so long that Akira starts to wonder if he’s plotting another murder. 

Finally, he blinks and says, “How strange. You really haven’t changed at all.” 

Akira shrugs. It’s not exactly a compliment, and it reminds him how his life has stagnated even as his friends have become remarkable successes.

“Do you remember what I told you when we first met?” Akechi asks. 

Akira nods. “You told me you were going to stop the Phantom Thieves.” 

A flicker of amusement crosses Akechi’s face. “Not that. The other thing.” 

And Akira does remember, almost like it was yesterday. “Advancement cannot occur without both thesis and antithesis.” 

“Yes.” Akechi looks genuinely pleased. “I want to know if that’s true.” 

“I guess it depends on what you mean by advancement,” Akira says. “You seem to be doing pretty well for yourself.” 

“Again, that depends on your definition of success,” Akechi says smoothly. “Let’s get the hell out of here, Akira.” 

Akira hesitates, glancing behind him. Yusuke, mouth full of canapes, gestures at him to go. And he wants to. He really wants to. 

But he spent years putting back together the pieces of his heart Akechi left shattered and jagged. He thought Akechi was dead, then he had him back for one unreal, impossible month and lost him again. After Maruki was defeated he woke up in solitary confinement and spent the next month with nothing to do but mourn Akechi in the cold silence. 

It’s taken years to drag himself out of that pit. He’s not about to jump back in because Akechi wants someone to argue with at a fancy event. 

He shakes his head, unable to look Akechi in the eye. Akechi’s eyes are the strange and distinctive color of dried blood, and he’s never met anyone else with eyes quite like them, and he’s sure if he gazes into them now, he won’t be able to refuse. 

“Thanks,” he says, softly. “I actually need to be. Uh. Somewhere else.” 

And before his willpower starts to falter, he turns on his heel and walks away. 

He doesn’t know where he’s going, gets into the elevator and rides down to the parking garage even though he didn’t drive here and doesn’t even own a car, because it seems like somewhere that will be dark and cool and quiet. 

The parking garage is as ugly as the rest of the museum is elegant, huge slabs of cement in a dank underground space. Akira leans against the wall near the elevator, half in shadow, and takes out his phone to waste some time. 

Of course Akechi’s face is the first thing to pop up in his social media timeline. Akechi broke up with his idol girlfriend and that’s all anyone seems to want to talk about. 

Akira knows it’s his fault for following so many celebrity news feeds. He knows he follows them because they post about Akechi. It’s a self-destructive habit, but sometimes that jagged tear of emotion that he feels when he looks at Akechi’s distantly beautiful face is better than feeling nothing, as he does most of the time.

Akira slips further into shadow as the elevator dings, and voices spill out into the echoey garage. 

“Akechi-kun, please. Five more minutes. We really want to get a photo of you with—”

“I said I’m done.” Akechi’s tone is terse, careless. 

“You’re the one who wanted to come to this event,” the woman says. “You’re the one who pushed for it. Arts and culture is not your brand. That was Ayane’s area, and if you wanted to get into it you should have done a better job keeping her.” 

Akechi stops and turns to face the woman. “We’re done for tonight. If you would still like to be my agent tomorrow, you will walk away now and continue this discussion at a later time.” 

The agent is silent for a moment, then holds up her hands with a sigh. “I’ll smooth it over somehow.” 

“Thank you,” Akechi says. 

The woman turns and walks away, and Akechi’s gaze drifts over to where Akira is standing. He waits until the elevator doors close behind her, then approaches Akira. 

“I see you and I had the same idea,” he says.

Akira crosses his arms. “Why did you come here?” 

His voice sounds rough, scraped raw. Like all the wounds he thought had healed are broken open and bloody again. 

“I came to see you,” Akechi says. “I thought that would be obvious.” 

“Here I am.”  _ For what it’s worth.  _

“You’re angry at me.” 

“I’m not angry.” Anger doesn’t begin to cover the combination of fury, heartbreak, and confusion he’s feeling right now. 

“Don’t lie to me.” 

Akira looks away, something hot and horrible swelling in his chest. “Did you know I went to jail?” 

Akechi nods. 

“My cell was smaller than that elevator,” Akira says, nodding the elevator doors. “I was in solitary confinement for most of it. No one to talk to. Nothing to do. Nothing to think about except the fact that you were dead and it was my fault.” 

His voice comes out low, melancholy but calm, like the cold thing constricting around his heart is cutting away his emotions, leaving them to churn and curdle untended. 

“I didn’t know they put you in solitary.” Akechi’s eyes flash with the kind of bright fury that, in their Metaverse days, was usually the last thing a shadow saw before it died. “I was told you were being treated well.” 

Akira blinks at him. “You were told?” 

“I was working as a detective,” Akechi says. “I kept an eye on you. But...not as well as I thought.” 

“Why?” Akira says, his heart weighted and sinking in his chest. “You hate me. You’ve never thought I was worth your time or effort.”

Akechi raises his hand and flicks his finger against Akira’s forehead, eyebrows raised in a clear challenge. 

“Where’s my Joker? I want my rival back.” 

Akira turns his face away. “Joker’s gone. The whole fucking Metaverse is gone, haven’t you noticed?” 

“Joker is not gone, he’s just being lazy,” Akechi says. “You are better than this, Akira.” 

Akira scowls at him, hot, exhilarating anger singing through his veins. Akechi has given him another challenge, pissed him off just like he used to. For the first time in a long time, Akira feels like Joker again, just for the few seconds it takes to ball up his fists and sock Akechi right on the mouth. 

Akechi steps back, laughing with blood on his teeth. “Ah, I’ve missed you.” 

Akira smiles back. For some reason, he feels much better. Probably there are a lot of people who would feel less stressed if they could punch Akechi Goro. 

“Do you know how miserably boring my life has been without you?” Akechi asks. 

Akira can’t help but laugh too, and it feels like a release, like a purge. He fumbles in his pocket for the handkerchief that Sojiro insisted he take, and presses it to Goro’s bleeding lip. But he doesn't apologize.

“Maybe I missed you too. Just a little.” 

Behind the handkerchief, Akechi smiles. “Do you want to get out of here, then? I know a place nearby.” 

After he met Akechi, that first day of their acquaintance, Akira had googled Hegel and the quote Akechi had opened with. In that search he’d found another quote, one that had stuck in his brain with a peculiar resonance. He’d never forgotten it.

_ “Truth is found neither in the thesis nor the antithesis, but in an emergent synthesis which reconciles the two.” _

Even then, it had somehow seemed significant. 

Now he smiles at his antithesis, the rival who always pushed him to be better, stronger, smarter. His other half, his darker side. The shadow to his light, the counterpoint to his melody, the Trickster who always helped him find his way. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Let’s go.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can you guess who bought Yusuke's painting of Joker?


End file.
